Usually, we at Holy Taco focus on what’s happening in the world today. Current events, recently-released videos, fun junk like that. But we never forget how the stupidity of today only exists because our culture has been fucked up forever. That is why every Thursday, we’re proud to present Failures From the Past, a weekly dose of stupidity and absurdities from all eras of history.

For the record, we were going to call it Throw-Up Thursday, as our way of bastardizing that Throwback Thursday thing all the kids are hashtagging and emoji’ing up these days. But a quick Google search reveals that our best and brightest long ago appropriated Throw-Up Thursday as a terribly witty to say “boy I’sss sooooo drnnunkkkkkk lolzee bolzeez!” Thanks, drunks.

Here’s our Throwback Thursday. And everyone else’s too.

So what’s on the docket today: How about an ode to pure sloth that we’re shocked failed as spectacularly as it did? Have you ever really to iron your shirts, but can’t bring yourself to stand over that damn board for minutes at a time? That can be murder on one’s calves, especially if you have slacks to smooth out too. What’s a fatass to do?

Well, some marketing genius tried to solve that problem back in 1953, with the release of the Rid Jid Knee Room sit-down ironing board. It’s just what it sounds like — an ironing board adjusted low to the ground so you can comfortably sit and iron the wrinkles out of clothes that won’t fit your ever-expanding tushie for another three weeks or so.

Yes, it’s the ultimate Christmas gift for the girl who has everything, but everything is wrinkly: “Here honey! I understand you’re pretty slack with the housework, what with all those soap operas you gotta keep up on, but since we’re in the ’50s, you having rights hasn’t been invented yet. So I got you an ironing board that caters to your favorite position — sitting! Now I’m off to do important man things, like wear a suit and pretend I understand what the stock market is. Have fun womaning!”

By the way, that’s supposed to be Mrs. Santa Claus, because even when the husband only works one day a year, God forbid he pitch in around the workshop for the other 364. This picture brings up another question of ours: does Mrs. Claus age? Clearly Santa doesn’t — he’s a fat old elf no matter what epoch you travel to. But 1950′s Mrs. Claus is positively June Cleaver-ish: dainty, adorable, fawning, and YOUNG. Meanwhile, what’s today’s Mrs. Claus look like?

Exactly, she’s old. So if those two are one and the same, is Mrs. Claus going to die in our lifetime? Talk about a blow to childhood innocence. You thought 9/11, Oklahoma City, Monica Lewinsky, Chris Benoit, Princess Diana, Iran/Contra, Watergate, JFK, RFK, MLK, and the Teletubbies marked the end of our national naivete? How naive.

But what if it’s not? What if those are two entirely different women, and Mrs. Claus is as immortal as her hubby? Then that would make Santa one of the only men in history to dump his pretty young girlfriend for a frumpy old grandma. And does Claus immortality go away as soon as the divorce papers are signed? Because if not, there’s a pretty young ex-Claus out there still, and she don’t want milk and cookie. She’d rather drink Santa’s freshly squeezed blood and feast on the flesh of that homewrecking middle-aged mistress of his.

Oh right, the board. Sorry. Somewhat surprisingly, this thing flopped, as is evident by how we’re talking about it here and not using it at home. We think somebody should give it another go though. In the 50 years since the Rid Jid board came and went, the average person has only gotten lazier and more sit-crazy. Why not make one more activity easier to do while slouching and staring at videos of cats doing stupid cat things?

Companies should really get a move on designing and patenting this thing though, before our legs evolve into a permanent sitting position. That could happen at just about anytime, so the next time we power up our Hoveround and wheel ourselves down to Wal-Mart, we had better see our sit down ironing boards. If we don’t, we’ll glare angrily. While sitting down.